


A Time-Honoured Tradition

by cowgirl65



Category: Original Work
Genre: National Hockey League, Other, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirl65/pseuds/cowgirl65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short fic about a much-loved Detroit NHL tradition set during Game 6 of the 2008 Stanley Cup Finals</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Time-Honoured Tradition

Damn. I glare at the door to the shop. I mean really, having to show ID before buying a stupid octopus? The logical part of me says that if the enemy wanted to buy ammunition on my home turf, I’d do the same, but logic has nothing to do with throwing an octopus during a hockey game. It’s a time-honoured tradition, going back all the way to 1952. The Penguins weren’t even a team then, for crying out load.

“Where the devil am I going to find an octopus before tonight?” I mutter. I must’ve said it louder than I thought, because a passer-by pauses.

“They sometimes sell live octopus at Asian grocerys. There’s one down on Penn Avenue.”

“Thanks,” I tell the stranger and he winks as he walks away. I wonder if he’s a closet Red Wings fan.

Sure enough, the store sells bags of live octopus and no one seems to care that I’m from Michigan. I take my prize back to my hotel room. The critters are pretty active and I don’t relish trying to smuggle one in that state, so I grab one and quickly drop it in the ice bucket before it can get a grip on me. I’ve got about half an hour until the puck drops and the octopus should be plenty dead by then.

The creature is much less lively when I take it out and pop it into a bag. There’s no way I’m gonna stick it down my pants until I’m almost there and that’s the only way I’ll get it past security. I pull on some loose track pants and head towards Mellon Arena.

It’s game 6 and I just know the Red Wings are gonna finish it tonight. It would be nice for them to win it Detroit, but really, bringing home the Cup is all that matters. The area around Mellon Arena is crowded, but I manage to find a spot where I can pull the limp octopus out of the bag and quickly tuck it in the front of my pants. It’s slimy and disgusting, but when the Red Wings get a goal, it’ll be worth it. My seat is up a little behind the net, the perfect spot for an octopus fling.

I try to walk normally, but it’s hard. Then as I stand in line, I suddenly feel something move. To my horror, I realize the creature in my pants isn’t quite dead. I gulp as a slimy tentacle slides into the crack of my ass. I’d get out of line, but I’m almost to the door and it’s impossible in the crush of people. I silently beg the line to move fast, but the man at the gate starts getting belligerent with the attendant.

Oh, my god, I need to get somewhere where I can get this thing out of there. A wandering tentacle wraps itself around my penis and I can’t help a sharp gasp when it squeezes a little. 

This has got to be the worst idea I’ve ever had in my life. An octopus is grabbing my junk and I just have to stand here. Why the hell didn’t I just leave it in the bag? 

Finally, the line moves. I will my hand to keep still as I hand over the ticket and the man doesn’t even give me a second glance.

There’s the bathroom sign. A sharp pain makes my eyes water as I fumble the stall door closed. The damn thing bit me!

I pull down my pants. The octopus is firmly attached to my groin and I have a devil of a time prying it off. Everything is throbbing, my privates are covered with red welts and I curse myself for ever taking the critter out of the bag. I stuff it back in and tuck it back in my pants, secure behind plastic. 

The Red Wings better get that goal.


End file.
